


Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bright

by Lionescence



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith's Birthday Week 2017, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-01-20 07:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12428007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionescence/pseuds/Lionescence
Summary: It's Keith's Birthday Week, everyone! A collection of fics of my favourite red bean, who I fell in love with as a child, and am still in love with today.Day 1: BondsDay 2: IdentityDay 3: HomeDay 4: Past / FutureDay 5: Just Keith ThingsDay 6: Birthday!Day 7: Free Day





	1. Bonds

“Hey. So Red misses you, you know?”

A corner of Keith’s mouth ticks upwards, just a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lance says, his head wrapped in a towel while he’s plastering his face with… whatever it is that he uses as a beauty treatment. It must be Thursday. “I mean, she rumbled about you before, especially whenever you were in one of those moods —”

“What moods?”

“The grumpy ones. Geez, you have any other kind? Anyway. But now that you’re actually not in the Castle… I dunno. I think she’s kinda sad.”

It’s nice in a way, but probably not for Lance. He knows that Lance already struggles with his place in Voltron, and having his Lion missing someone else can’t be good for his confidence. “Well, tell her I miss her, too,” he says, meaning it. Because he does. Not just because she didn’t come for him when he blew himself out into space. He misses her warmth in his head, and how when he can’t sleep at night he can just reach out and she curls around him like a cat around her kitten. “And that she’s got to be good to you. Or I won’t be happy about it.”

“Ugh, she’s such a diva,” Lance gripes, smoothing his face mask over his brows. Keith tries not to laugh at the juxtaposition. “If she were a real cat, I bet I’d have to buy her off with treats.” He pauses briefly, then looks around the room, listening before letting out a small squeak. “Oooh. She did _not_ like that.”

Keith chuckles, low and quiet. “She wouldn’t. And I don’t think she entirely appreciated being used as the support for your aerial pole dancing. She’s got some pride, you know? You’re probably gonna have to make it up to her by taking her to an asteroid field to bounce around in.”

“Oh my god, you _saw_ that?”

He’d recorded it, but he isn’t going to tell Lance that.

 

 

 

“Are you eating enough? You don’t look like you’re eating enough. What do Galra eat anyway?”

“Believe it or not, the same ration goo.” Keith makes a face. “Except ours is grey. Some of the Blades add these… purple… gummy-worm-looking things? But I, uh. No. Just, no.”

Hunk frowns, in that dark, foreboding way when those he cares about aren’t eating enough. “Well send me a sample if you can’t work out what’s in it. I’ll check it out and maybe make suggestions to Kolivan. Just because you’re part Galra doesn’t mean you have to eat like one, ugh.”

Keith shakes his head, laughing. “Hunk, I can’t begin to figure out how to send you a bowlful of grey Galra goo. That’s just… honestly I’m fine.”

“You look thinner, though,” and amazingly his frown gets deeper, eyes narrower, and Keith can’t help but squirm under the scrutiny. “Yeah, definitely. Your shoulders used to take up this much of the screen and now it’s this much.” He shows an arbitrary distance between his hands, then narrows the distance. “Can I send you food? Like, it’s so weird, because now when I’m serving up dinner there’s an extra portion left over and I’m like, ‘why?’ and it’s because you’re not here.”

Keith’s stomach grumbles, if not for the Hunk’s cooking, then for the love and care Hunk clearly puts into feeding them. Even his memories of his father’s simple fixings have faded, and he hadn’t known good comfort food until he was light years away from that shack, in a flying castle. He and Hunk get on pretty well, at least before Keith began distancing himself from the team, one adamant on feeding people with love and the other starved of it.

“I’m okay, really,” he says instead. “I miss your cooking, I really do, but I’m okay.”

Hunk isn’t convinced, an eyebrow arching in challenge. “Okay. Fine. But you tell me when you’ve visiting, okay, so I can make up whatever you want.”

“Hunk, you don’t have —”

“ _Whatever. You. Want_.”

Keith swallows audibly — he was never one to underestimate Hunk — and nods, though his smile is wide and genuine. “Yes, sir.”

 

 

 

“You found him!”

“I found him!”

Keith is absolutely beaming. On the screen Pidge is radiant, her brother hovering behind her waving, the siblings wearing identical grins. “I knew you could do it.”

“Keith! Long time no see!” Matt leans in. “How about this, huh? You and me, out in space in rebel groups. The rest of our batch would be so jealous.”

Keith’s smile falters, but he keeps it up, for Matt. “I doubt any of them give a shit about what I’m doing. You’re the valuable asset they lost.”

“And _you’re_ the asset they disregarded. Their loss.”

Keith likes Matt. Had always liked him because he was the only one apart from Shiro who was friendly to him back at the Garrison. They’d been in the same year, though Matt was of course a genius and earned his place on the Kerberos mission, and there was no need for Keith when there was Shiro. Keith never quite worked out why Matt bothered: Matt was intelligent, charming, and funny, things Keith simply hadn’t been and still isn’t. Shiro had suggested that Matt was just being kind.

Keith wasn’t — still isn’t — used to kindness.

He’s happy that Matt is back, is happy to see the hope and brightness in Pidge’s eyes, but he also feels hollow. She won’t need him anymore. She has Matt again. Not that he ever assumed he could fill Matt’s shoes, but for a little while, the Red and Green Paladins of Voltron made a good team. They were both small, and cunning. She was his left and he was her right. Brother-and-Sister-in-arms.

But he supposes… now…

“Okay, Matt, now get outta here. I wanna talk with my Other Brother.”

“What, I’m not allowed here?”

“Nope. Strictly Traffic Light Party business.”

Keith looks up to find Pidge shoving her brother out of the room, Matt protesting all the way. “Keith if you have dishonourable intentions towards my sister I will —”

Both Pidge and Keith scream, “Oh my god _ew_ shut up!” The door slams, and both sigh in relief. Pidge sits herself back down and starts fiddling with something. “Okay, here. I just sent a packet to your console.”

“What?” Keith pulls up the little handheld console all the Blades use, and finds a little flashing envelope on it. “Pidge, how did you —”

“Don’t worry,” she waves off, leaning back like the smug cat she is. “I’ve erased my trail and rescrambled the entry codes. You’re good.”

He tries to keep a stern expression, but ultimately fails, and taps on the icon. Immediately a little photo album app pops up, and he bursts out laughing. “Holy shit, are these —?”

“Yup. Backstage photos of the Voltron Show. Thought you’d like ‘em. See what you missed out on.”

He laughs again, almost in tears at the photo of the entire team crashed out backstage in a pile against the cardboard lion heads, and sighs. He looks up, sees Pidge’s eyes on him, soft and kind as ever. “I miss you, Katie.”

“I miss you, too, Keith.”

 

 

 

“It’s… strange, without you here.”

Keith won’t say it. Won’t say that was how it was for him for months after the battle with Zarkon. For over a year after Kerberos. He won’t, because he isn’t petty, he isn’t, and he loves Shiro, and he would do anything for Shiro to not feel even an ounce of how he’d felt during those times.

Except, well. “I’m sorry, Shiro. But you understand why I have to do this, right?”

Shiro smiles that soft, beatific smile that tells him he does understand, he does, but it doesn’t change that it hurts. “Of course I do. You’ve spent so long not having a path, and now you have choices. It would be wrong to not let you explore them.”

Keith huffs a tired breath, wrinkling his nose as he does. “I just… wish I knew if it’s the right choice. Sometimes I’m just — I’m never sure.”

“Then that’s what this time is for, isn’t it? To find out.” Shiro sits back, making himself comfortable, and that action alone heartens Keith somewhat. It means he’s going to sit for a while, it means they’re going to get to talk for a long time. He can see the dim lights around Shiro’s bed, the light casting shadows against what skin isn’t coved by the tank top he sleeps in. “I’ve gone through the reports. You’re making huge strides with the Blade, Keith. You’re growing and learning and I know that no matter what you decide from here on in, you’ll have gained so much. More than you could have done even here, maybe.”

Immediately Keith’s heart deflates again. Could he ever explain that to Shiro? That he’d been happy with Red, he’d been happy as his right hand. But being forced to lead, especially with Shiro back, was too hard, too painful. He’d felt like he was suffocating under the pressure, crushed under expectation. He knows he goes by instinct above all else, that he goes with his heart. And his heart burned too hot, too reactive, to be the head of Voltron.

“Keith.”

Keith hadn't realized he’d lowered his eyes, and quickly brings them up again to meet Shiro’s. He knows Shiro can now see the sorrow in them, but there’s little he can do about it.

“You’re still the Red Paladin. Even if… even if you don’t have a Lion right now, you’re still the Red Paladin. You still fulfil all the qualities that that title embodies, and that can never be replaced.”

Keith sighs, eyes sliding down again. Shiro means well. “You guys are doing great, though. Better than when I was there. Definitely better than when I was leading. I wouldn’t —” _be surprised if Red doesn’t even want me back_ , he wants to say. But he doesn’t.

“Well, _I’m_ not doing that great, Keith.”

His head snaps back up, eyes wide. Shiro looks… small, suddenly. Forlorn and lonely. All those perfect military-grade edges blurring into something much more vulnerable. But that was how Shiro was. With Keith. And only Keith.

“It’s… quiet. You don’t say much but it’s like, you’re an echo that I can feel, not hear. Sometimes we’re all together and I keep waiting for your echo to bounce back and it never comes and —” Shiro stops, shakes his head with a low chuckle that is wet and humourless. “ _God_ , I miss you, baby. It’s cold here. It’s cold and no matter what I do I can’t get warm and how on earth did I not know it was always you?”

Keith swipes a hand across his eyes, smiling, pretending his glove doesn’t come away damp. “Sometimes you’re just not that bright, Takashi.”

Another chuckle, but brighter this time. “Maybe. That’s why I need you. To tell me when I’m just that dumb.”

“What, Pidge doesn’t do that?”

Shiro laughs now, a full-bodied thing that is all light and summer sun. “Oh don’t you even start. When we —”

And Keith listens, listens as Shiro lays down, props the tablet up against the wall along the bed. Talks and laughs as Shiro’s head sinks deeper into the pillow, eyes slowly drooping closed.

“Go to sleep, Takashi.”

“Mmm. Stay on until I’m asleep?”

Keith smiles, even though Shiro can’t see it now. “Of course. Sleep. I love you.”

“… love you.”

Keith stays until soft snores come through the comm, and quietly, he shuts off their link.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked that Pidge asks Matt to keep calling her Pidge, instead of Katie. So I thought, what about if, in Matt's absence, she misses being called Katie, and the only one she allows to call her that is Keith? I know Shiro was the only one to do so way back in S1, to prove that he knew exactly who she was, but I thought it'd be nice for Pidge to fully adopt Keith as her brother, and giving him the honour of calling her by her 'Earth' name.


	2. Identity

They gave him his suit not long after the Trials.

Sometimes he wished he’d been there then, just to see what they had to do to get a suit small enough, or adapt the boots for his very human feet that didn’t split between the toes. At least they didn’t need to take a tail into account.

Although, some other times, Keith felt that a prehensile tail would’ve been quite a useful thing to have.

He looked at himself in the full-length mirror in his room, the dark suit clinging to his body like a second, toughened skin, familiar belt pouches yet of unfamiliar weights at his hips, the glowing highlights on the chestplate. Somehow, that glow brought out the purple of his eyes, made them seem all the more… unreal. He pulled the hood up, set the mask in place, and he could almost believe he was as Galra as any of the other Blades, if not for the fact he barely broke five-foot-nine and weighed about a third of the smallest of them.

It was almost laughable. Too small as a human man. Even too much smaller as a Galra.

Huffing, he snapped the hood back, and the mask vanished, and there he was again. Pale skin that never burned. Dark hair. Those purple eyes.

 _“That probably explains them,”_ Shiro had said, more kindly than he deserved.

Keith hadn’t known how to tell him that he had his _father’s_ eyes. Not his mother’s.

He grabbed his knife, set it into its sheath, and made for the training deck. Everyone was asleep by now when he couldn’t, and he often trained in full Paladin armour, sometimes in just his regular clothes. But never in the Blade armour. He wanted to know how it felt to move in it, what its limits were, how to hit hard and take hard hits with it. Because one day it might be necessary.

He headed to the control deck first to load up the training system that Kolivan had given him. Utilizing the same gladiator bots, but modding them to resemble members of the Blade in size, speed and fighting style.

It was the last that made him pause. Because not long after the Trials, during one of their quieter moments — and there were more of them than usual for a while after everyone found out he was Galra — Shiro had brought up how Keith had changed the way he fought. _“You don’t usually fight like that,”_ he’d said. _“Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you fight like that. You were… smoother. Faster. I’m not sure… it’s like, you were a knife in there, but your edges were dull, as if you hadn’t been used in a while.”_ He’d blinked then, slow and thoughtful, before he rumbled a gentle laugh. _“Guess you were holding back all this time.”_

Well. Maybe he was.

“Begin training sequence, Code Marmora.”

Three gladiators appeared, of Galra height and wielding the weapons signature to the Blade of Marmora. Keith drew his knife, set one foot in front of the other, pushing up on the ball of it, and _sprung_.

One gladiator was down before his feet touched the floor. He ducked under the second, ignoring it, and in a flash his knife was a sword and it blocked the oncoming attack from the third. Their blades clashed once, twice, and on the third strike Keith feinted right, slammed a hand into the bot’s side to unbalance it before cutting through it like water. He spun on a heel and flung the sword out of his hand, watched it change back into a knife and plunge deep into the last gladiator’s head as it charged at him. Keith was there within seconds, pulling the blade back out before the gladiator even hit the ground.

The suit made him feel light. Light, but strong, armoured in all the right places to take and make sharp hits, but flexible enough for him to move freely, quickly. He felt his hamstrings sing as he leapt, with more force and height than he normally would, felt the way his body tightened like steel when he used his forward momentum to drive down and deep. He felt the way his ankles flexed, almost uncomfortably too far, allowing him to spin, pivot, change direction.

He’d never felt so free.

And in that moment he called the simulation to a halt, choking on guilt and disgust, his knife falling from his hands.

“You were doing very well there, Number Four.”

Keith nearly leapt out of his skin, unsteady enough that he toppled over his own feet, landing hard on his hip.

“Goodness! I’m so sorry! Hang on, let me —” Instantly Coran was in front of him, pulling him up to sit and feeling around for any damage.

“I’m fine, Coran. You just… caught me off guard,” he said, not entirely lying, not wholly telling the truth. Somehow Coran had conjured a water pouch from his person, and Keith took the offering with only a raised eyebrow.

“I was rather enjoying watching you, actually,” Coran spoke, settling into a cross-legged position himself. “Always felt you had a little more in the afterburners in you. And a little more form, too. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen fighting like that.”

The straw dropped from between Keith’s lips as they fell open in a small ‘O’. “You’ve… seen the Blade before?”

“Oh no no, not the Blade themselves, but…” And there Coran sighed, something wistful in his eyes. He wore that look a lot around Lance: both were often homesick together, even though only one of them had a home to return to. “You know we were allies once, the Alteans and the Galra. It wasn’t unusual for the two to train together. And the Galra used to be such a sight! Nothing like this blunt brutality you’ve been dealing with. Considering their size and all, they were elegant and poised. They moved and fought like dancers.” Then he levelled his gaze at Keith, nodding rather fondly. “Much like you do.”

Keith dropped his head, eyes to the floor, pulling his knees up to hug them. So there it was. He was always Galra. He just hadn’t known. All those years made sense, those scrapes he got into that he shouldn’t have got out of as unscathed as he had, the impatience at punching straight lines and solid footwork when he’d simply wanted to _move_. That his bayard turned into a sword was a relief to him, immediately familiar and comfortable because he’d had his knife since he was a child and in the dark of night or out in the emptiness of the desert he’d taught himself to fight with it.

“It’s a beautiful thing you have, that heritage.”

Keith shook his head, refusing to raise it. “No it isn’t,” and he wanted it to come out sharper, more bitter, but something in feeling that ecstasy in movement had numbed him, left him tired and empty. “I’m Galra. Allura can’t stand to be in the same room with me. I don’t know how you’re just… sitting here, like it doesn’t matter.”

Coran shrugged, that fondness still present and real. “It matters inasmuch as I may have to adjust your dietary requirements and make sure the cryopods are calibrated to your hybrid nature, perhaps make sure we have the right medications for you. I should also like to see you fight and train more the way you just have. It would only benefit you to be right in your own skin.”

This time he couldn’t stop snapping his eyes up, hot and angry as they were. “But I _don’t_ feel right in my skin! I never have! And it’s worse now!” He heard the way his own voice broke over the last word and tried to swallow, but he couldn’t get around the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. So he gave up, barely managed to croak, “It’s so much worse now.”

It was too late to stop his tears, so he hid them, face down into his knees. He stayed there, hiding in the silence, nothing that was new to him.

He was so used to Coran’s term of address for him, that he couldn’t help but peer up when he heard him say, “Keith.”

“I know it must be… very strange for you. Likely prior to these months you barely imagined there were Alteans and Galra, nevermind the rest of the universe and all who live in it. And now here you are, sitting next to an old Altean, yourself part Galra. It’s hard. I can understand that. And I’m afraid time is the thing you need, and the very thing we have precious little of. So here’s what I’ll tell you.”

Keith sniffled, passing his hand over his eyes, and lifted his chin a little higher.

“You humans have done nothing but utterly surprise me, with your resilience and adaptability, and your humour, goodness, without which, I assume, you’d have all fallen into despair. And I have known the Galra of old, and I know of their loyalty, their ferocity, and the beauty of their heritage. I wish I could adequately explain to you just how much Zarkon has destroyed in these ten thousand years, that that heritage is now but a memory.”

Coran picked up Keith’s knife, admired it for a moment, before flipping it easily and offering it hilt-first to the Red Paladin. “But here you sit, human and Galra, with a piece of what it once meant to be Galra in your hands. And if you have a Galra soul, and that very human heart of yours, is that so bad, really?”

Very slowly, Keith shook his head, and slower still, he smiled.

Coran, too, smiled, a broad thing that pulled his moustache upwards. He ruffled a hand through Keith’s hair, squeezed his shoulder.

“Good lad.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need to write Coran more.


	3. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I'm lame and completely didn't make any of the deadlines for this, but I'm going to keep going because the ideas are all there and ready to go, and I really want to share them with you.
> 
> There is my first foray into Sheith smut at the end of this, so be warned and/or enjoy!

Allura is there to greet him when he disembarks from his small shuttle. It no longer feels strange to see her wearing her pink version of the Paladin armour, even though there are few differences between that and her everyday armour. He almost misses the sight of her in her formal wear, when she didn’t always need to be battle ready.

“Welcome home, Keith,” she says, and while he smiles at her greeting, he’s unsure of the sentiment. She tilts her head, a stray curl escaping from behind her ear. “What is it that Shiro always says to you? Good to have you back?”

He snorts a laugh, eyes crinkling so hard as his smile grew that he can barely see her. “Yes. Yeah. Good to be back, Allura.”

He allows himself to be hugged, returning it carefully, allows her to lower his hood so she can fix his hair, check him over like a mother over an errant child. “If it’s one thing that becoming a Paladin has made me grateful for,” she says, “it’s that you no longer call me Princess.”

“And I’m grateful that the Right Leg of Voltron can now actually make those kicks Lance keeps messing up.”

Allura laughs, the sound light and girlish, as she should be, as he likes her to be. He likes her as herself, not as one of the commanders of the Coalition. “Oh, that’s what we’ve been missing. No one puts Lance in his place as you do, Keith.”

They fall into step together away from the hangar, exchanging small pieces of news. She insists that debriefing can wait, that he ought to change, get comfortable, get some rest. He has four days with them, after all, barring any emergencies, and even then Keith is to remain with the Castle of Lions and see if there is anything to be gleaned from a quick one-man infiltration.

Sometimes, Keith is certain he doesn’t know Kolivan’s mind at all.

 

 

 

He comes up to the door of his old room, a sinking feeling in his gut. They’d all arrived at the Castle with very little, and over time Keith collected little else more. His life has always been utilitarian: have little enough for anyone to steal, little enough so packing away again won’t hurt so much. Living with the Blade only drove that home, knowing that his chances of coming back alive are always so slim.

Keith never liked the idea of anyone cleaning up after him, or handling his effects. Darkly, he wonders if it may be an idea to draft some sort of will. He knows Shiro did, before the Kerberos mission. Having no other family, Keith received everything that Shiro had left behind then, and each piece had cut him to the bone.

He shakes his head. What did he even have to leave behind, for anyone?

His door slides open, and for a moment he feels he has the wrong room.

There are fairy lights hanging up around the bed, soft and twinkling in the otherwise dark space, and along the opposite wall of the room. A Voltron Coalition poster hangs in a corner on the long wall over the bed, alongside a messy collection of… photographs. Keith moves closer, his duffel bag sliding off his shoulder to land by the bed. Eventually he climbs on, kneeling on the mattress, suddenly aware that it’s softer than usual. He looks down, and there is the thickest, softest quilt he’s ever seen, a deep scarlet with gold edges. There are more pillows than he remembered leaving behind, and tucked between them is a small stuffed toy. He reaches over and pulls it out, and it’s a purple hippopotamus, shiny button eyes winking at him.

“Do you like it?”

His head snaps towards the door, and Pidge is there, all shy hands and shuffling feet. She steps over the threshold and lets the door slide shut behind her.

“I… I’m not… sure?”

Pidge fusses with her hands, comes to sit on the bed. Keith turns around to sit beside her, the stuffed hippo sitting in his lap. Now he notices a small selection of books on the desk, arranged neatly between a pair of bookends. _Dune. The Lord of the Rings. Howl’s Moving Castle. Perdido Street Station_. “ _Snow Crash?_ ” Keith asks, curious.

She shrugs. “It looked like something you’d read.”

“It does,” he returns, fighting a smile. “I have. I’ve always wanted to reread it.”

“We went back to that mall, and there was a book section in the back of that Earth store,” she said. “Shiro helped me pick out the books.”

“That’s…very sweet. Of both of you.” He leans back on his hands, tips his head over to look at the photographs, and sees that they are from as far back as when they were first reunited after becoming separated during their wormhole escape. Group photos, paired ones, candid silly ones. At the mall, on Olkarion, back on the Balmera. Some are even from when he was away with the Blade, taken at one of the Voltron Shows, or with a group of happy refugees.

He likes them, even though they make him feel somewhat sad.

“I didn’t like that your room was so empty,” Pidge says, staring down at her hands. “It felt like… like you weren’t gonna come back. And how could you miss this room if there was nothing in it? So I made it so that you’d feel comfortable, and it’d be different to being out there with the Blade, and maybe you’d miss it more. And that, you’d want to come back.”

Keith reaches over and pulls her to his side, and immediately feels her arms around his middle. “Thank you, Pidge. It’s… it’s amazing.”

She nuzzles further into his side, and he wonders if she will be willing to let go in four days. “Good. I’m glad.”

“Though you should know by now,” he says, squeezing her tight, “that it’s not the room that I miss.”

 

 

 

He feels refreshed after a long, hot shower. Galra have fur, so hot water seems needless to them, and there is little time to accommodate the only one of their number with pale, exposed skin. Keith plans to have as many hot showers as he can in these next few days, maybe even sneak in a bath.

There are few mirrors on the Blade bases, so it’s the first time Keith sees his new scars, collected from various missions where being the smallest Blade had cost him. The feeling of fresh air on them is nice, so he opts for a tank top and a loose sweater over his usual pants, relishing the freedom in wearing anything other than his uniform.

He is curled up on one of the sofas in the lounge area, reading _Snow Crash_ , when Lance comes in, loud and long-limbed. “Lookit that. Made yourself all at home already, huh?” He throws himself into the spot next to him, peers over his shoulder to see what he’s reading. “Ohh. One of the books Pidge got you. You know, I never took you for a bookworm.”

“I lived in the desert for a year, Lance,” he says, not looking up from his page. “And libraries are great when you’re a broke kid.”

“So you don’t know how to do a cheer but you can probably tell me who dies, chronologically, in every volume of _A Song of Ice and Fire?_ ”

Keith opens his mouth but is stopped by Lance’s flapping. “Nononono don’t tell me!”

He grins a wicked grin at that.

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, until Keith begins to feel eyes on him. He raises his head to find Lance looking at him intently, almost as if for the first time. “What?”

Lance chews on his bottom lip, frowning, before he says, “You have new scars.”

The loose sweater left his collarbones exposed, and the tank top hid very little, so his scars are obvious even in a passing glance. The line that runs down one collarbone, disappearing into the sweater. The slash on his left upper arm, neater and finer than the stark reminder of the Trials of Marmora on his right shoulder. The rip across his back, crossing his shoulder blades, that could have been uglier if he’d been even a second slower.

“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “They happen.”

A part of him, the part of him that sometimes still resents Lance for… his resentment of him, wants to tell Lance that the one across his back happened while he was on an infiltration mission, around the same time Lance was ice skating with the rest of the team winning hearts and minds. But the way Lance is looking at him, with so much concern it’s startling, keeps him silent.

“Do they hurt?”

He could lie, and for a moment he considers it, but he doesn’t. “The one on my back does, sometimes. I got torn up pretty badly. We don’t have healing pods out in the field, and sometimes it’s a while before we get back to base to use them.” He says nothing about how much it hurt, how long before he stopped bleeding, how Kolivan had been there when his pod opened up.

Lance is still wearing that concerned, thoughtful expression, when he hoists himself up onto the back of the sofa, removes his jacket, and rolls up his sleeves. “Okay. I’m gonna pull your sweater up, okay?”

“Uh…why?”

The Blue Paladin settles himself behind the Red, keeping his seated body between his long legs, and starts gently pulling up the back of the sweater. “Just trust me?”

Keith feels the cold air brush against his skin, but also the warmth radiating from Lance behind him. “O-okay.” There is an appraising hum behind him, and then the first touch of thumbs at the point where his shoulder blades met. He flinches, pulling away. “Ow!”

Lances tsks. “Dude, your shoulders are like concrete. What the hell have you been doing?”

“Well while you were dancing on ice I was with the Blade.”

There is a pause, and then a punch to his shoulder, which he doesn’t make a sound for, and instead only snickers. “I can’t believe you just said that! I can _not_ — How dare you. What, the Galra are teaching you memes now?”

“Not my fault you make assumptions about what I do and don’t know.”

“Ugh. Fine. Now hold still. You’ve got knots in here that are like rocks.”

Keith goes back to his book, tries to ignore the little twinges of pain as Lance works through the muscles on his upper back, his shoulders, his neck, slowly down to the middle of his back. He works methodically and steadily, applying pressure gently at first, and if Keith makes no complaint, pushes on a little firmer. Thumbs become fingers become curled knuckles loosening the gnarled cords of his shoulders. Soon the pain stops, and a deep, sated comfort envelops him.

He doesn’t know when it happens, but he stops reading, stops holding on to the book, and really, stops being awake at all.

When he next blinks awake, he’s lying on the sofa, Lance’s heavy jacket draped over him and a sticky note stuck to his forehead. He peels it off, reads it, and laughs quietly to himself.

_You need another appointment._

_Same time tomorrow. Don’t be late!_

_Dr. Lancey-Lance xx_

 

 

 

The table is positively _groaning_ with food. Keith can’t stop staring at just how much there is. He’s pretty sure that he’s never, ever, in his entire life, seen so much food.

“Hunk? Is it a special occasion?”

“Of course it is!” he says, beaming as he puts yet another dish down. “You’re home! And I told you: when you come home I’ll make all the good stuff!”

Keith peers at the dish Hunk just put down, and his jaw unhinges. “Is that… are those chilli cheese fries?”

“Oh, yeah. Shiro told me you love those. And I managed the nearest thing to fried chicken fillets — the batter was easy but man, getting that country gravy right was a challenge.” Hunk’s eyes are shining as he talks, clearly having relished the task of getting the gravy right.

“Where did you even _get_ cheese?” Keith asks, unable to keep the laughter from his voice.

“Uh, duh. Kaltenecker?”

Keith blinks, still incredulous. “But —”

And Hunk launches into the whole cheese-making process, not that Keith didn’t already know the basics, but Coran had gotten interested in it all — more so since the advent of milkshakes — and was more than happy to help with the science and then the engineering of everything they needed to arrive at cheese. “We also have milkshakes and ice-cream! You like strawberry, right?”

“Uh… milkshake or ice-cream?”

Hunk shrugs cheerfully. “Either or. I have both! Come on, I’ll fix ya up a milkshake while we wait for the others. You haven’t had any yet!”

Like a lost duckling, he follows the Yellow Paladin into the kitchens, where he pulls out a genuine honest-to-God tall frosted glass, like in the diners back on Earth, from out of the fridge, along with a canister that looks suspiciously like whipped cream, which, as the process goes on, turns out to be exactly that. Hunk whips the flavoured milk until it’s thick, until the straw stands up in it, then tops it with whipped cream and a scattering of what looks a lot like freeze-dried strawberries.

Keith wants to ask a lot of questions, but the earnest, expectant look on Hunk’s face gives him pause, reminds him of all of Hunk’s promises about feeding him and making him his favourite foods whenever he visits. So he takes the straw between his lips, and takes a short sip.

And his eyes go wide.

“Uh-oh. I didn’t check. Do Galra get brain-freeze? Because we found out that Alteans don’t get brain-freeze and that was hilarious, except maybe not so much for Lance —”

Keith shakes his head, not letting go of the straw, and takes another sip. Another cold blast of smooth, creamy milk, the sweet-sharp of strawberries. And in his mind he’s in a booth in a roadside diner, his father’s motorbike within view outside, and he’s up on his knees on his seat because he’s too small to reach otherwise, and his father laughs at him, sticks his finger in the whipped cream and steals it into his own mouth, earning him an indignant squawk from his son. The smirk his father wears is familiar — he sees it in the mirror often enough — and his violet eyes spark and flare with the kind of mischief a grown man should not be allowed to be proud of, but that never bothered Tay Kogane in the slightest.

“Keith?”

He blinks and he’s drained half the glass, but the itch of drying tear tracks begins to sting, and he has no idea when he —

Hunk takes the glass out of his hands, setting it aside, then collects him in a hug so careful, so gentle that Keith almost forgets just how strong, how formidable, Hunk really is. He simply envelops him, not pressing in or down, not pulling him closer or deeper than he wants. Slowly Keith lets himself collapse against Hunk’s broad chest, bury his face into one massive shoulder, and waits for a large hand to hold him there, firm and warm against his back.

“Was it okay?” he asks, which seems like a strange question, considering.

Keith nods, smiling even though Hunk can’t see.

“Yeah. It tastes exactly as it should.”

 

 

 

Keith comes with a rippling gasp, his breathy hiccups matching each time Shiro swallows around him. He has one hand in Shiro’s hair, the other underneath the pillow, fingers slowly loosening from their death grip on the sheets. He’s still seeing stars before he thinks that maybe he’s seeing his new fairy lights, and he isn’t sure if he’s shivering from the sweat cooling on his skin or from the orgasm.

Dazed, he feels movement shifting up and over him, a body blanketing him. He tries to focus, smiles when he sees Shiro’s grin looming over him, warm and generous. “Good?”

He’s far too smug, but Keith can’t find it in himself to be bratty about it. Instead he wraps his legs around Shiro’s powerful thighs, brings his arms up around his neck to pull him closer. “Perfect. Like always.” He tilts his head up and Shiro meets him halfway, the kiss innocent and chaste after where Shiro’s mouth had just been. Heat curls around his spine when he tastes himself, when Shiro deepens the kiss into something hungrier, wetter.

“Good. I’m glad. Because I’m not done yet.”

“Shiro,” Keith chuckles, low in his throat, “I haven’t seen your face for at least twenty minutes.”

Shiro hums, and kisses him on his nose, and when that makes Keith scrunch his face, he kisses his closed eyelids, fluttering things that shockwave through his body. “True. That’s why I want you here, like this. So I can see you.”

Keith knows he won’t lose sight of Shiro again tonight, because the last half-hour was spent preparing him and satisfying him in turns and at once, lifting him high before letting him fall again, tongue then fingers then both teasing him over and over until he was babbling and incoherent and outside of himself. Now he rearranges himself, loosens his legs and letting them fall open so Shiro can rest in the cradle of his hips. He has no idea how long Shiro has been hard for, but this is how they are evenly matched: Shiro’s stamina and Keith’s appetite. Keith could take for as long as Shiro was able, but Shiro could give and give and give until Keith could ask for no more.

As soon as Shiro slides in — so patient, so focused — Keith feels himself go lightheaded, feels all the blood rushing back to his cock and stirring it back to hardness. He knows this for certain: Shiro is going to take his time, draw this out until it is unbearable for both of them. He locks his ankles against the small of Shiro’s back, his arms around broad, scarred shoulders and his back arches, pressing their chests together in a slow, sweaty drag that steals their breaths.

This is special, because it’s rare they have so much time. Quick, hurried fucks between missions are nothing compared to when Shiro has the luxury of time to truly, fully make love to him. It’s slow, steady, deep, the pace giving Keith enough time to get fully hard again, yet Shiro enough awareness to keep from pressing his full weight against him, leaving Keith untouched and aching.

And all throughout, Shiro, with his Galra hand against his ribcage, his flesh hand buried in his hair, leans close in, mouth to his ear, whispering and murmuring like a man relaying his dying words. _I love you. I missed you, so very much. So good. You’re so good, so beautiful. Open your eyes. Look at me. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me. I will do this every night until you leave so you know you’re mine, so I know you’re here, that you’re home, with me. Even if it’s just for now._

Keith answers: he knows he does, but he has no idea what he says in reply. His name, certainly, and not Shiro, but _Takashi, Takashi, Takashi_ , the syllables breaking as they rock into each other, adrift in their own private ocean, until one last _I love you_ breathes into his ear and he shatters, coming apart, coming together, coming back.

Later, their skin glowing under fairy lights, his muscles soft and loose, his belly full, curled up in the arms of the man he loves and who loves him, Keith knows he is home.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tay Kogane is Keith's father's name in When You Rise. I decided to keep it even though this story isn't within the When You Rise canon. 
> 
> The next one, though? Definitely is.


	4. Past/Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In case you ever doubted that When You Rise has a happy ending.

Keith pushed the door open, the creak and scrape now familiar to his ears, a memory that was now present and real. A few switches and the shack glowed in the desert night, a warm bastion in cold, empty space. He closed the door, locking it, not that there was anything that wanted to get in.

He unpacked the backpack methodically, silently, pulling out the camera, his maps, his sketchbook. Clicking the laptop on, he connected the camera to it, and browsed through the day’s files, selecting a handful and setting them to print off the small photo printer on the lower shelf. The quiet hum of the printer was the only noise in the space while he laid out the maps on the desk, his sketchbook open on top of them.

More sketches of the lion carvings. He kept finding more, sometimes in places he was sure he’d already looked. It was why he started using the camera as well: to record the sites he’d already checked, to compare them from one visit to the next. Sometimes they changed, sometimes not.

When they did, he was sure he was losing his mind.

The night carried on in the same silence as he worked, pinning photographs to the board, updating the maps, tidying his sketches. He went over his notes, even though he barely had anything new to add and he knew every word in his handwriting by heart by now. He’d forgotten to eat again, and he sighed at how late it was, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop, to care. A phantom ache lanced through his lower back, echoed in his left wrist, and he forced himself to stand up from his seat, to walk around and try to not throw up at the memories those aches brought back. He knew, he knew when those aches came, it meant he was tired, too tired to keep going for the night. But he also knew that they meant a poor night’s sleep ahead of him, because no matter how deeply he buried those memories, they still came back.

The bottle of pills caught his eye then, a third full now, a warning that if he gave in and took one just so he could sleep through the night, it would be one less later on, and he didn’t know if he could easily get more, especially given that he’d stolen those before he left the Garrison. Not only that, he knew he’d lose most of a morning, too, and he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ let himself rot out here.

The calling out in the desert, whatever it was, was stronger than the need for peace. He wasn’t owed peace anymore, not without Shiro. Not now when everything he worked for, everything they dreamed of together, was gone. Not when, even if Shiro were alive, if he were to somehow come home, he wasn’t certain Shiro would still want him. He was damaged goods now, a disgrace to the Garrison, to Shiro, to himself.

He pushed those thoughts away, those tears back, and he shed his jacket for an old hoodie, pulled his hair up into a stubby ponytail. He grabbed his knife and went back out into the night. The cold air whipped against his face, shocking him to some degree of wakefulness, and that was enough. He centred himself, tipping his head back to greet the stars overhead, before setting into a neutral stance.

For weeks now he’d been adapting sword katas into a knife-fighting style that suited his speed and build. Out here, alone, he danced with his knife in the dark. There was no gym, no punching bag, nowhere for him to be except in this wilderness, where if the voices in his head were quiet enough, he could hear the purring of a mighty cat, and if he couldn’t silence either, he would scream into the night, crying and calling where there would be no answer.

This was his life now, without Shiro, without a way to be.

 

 

  
Keith let out a sharp whistle once he straightened up again, ready for his run back to the house. “Miranda! Oberon! Let’s go!”

The two wolf-dogs came haring at him from who-even-knows-where, doggy-smiles at the sound of their master’s voice. They crowded around him first, nuzzling and sniffing as if they hadn’t seen him in days, when they’d only been out of sight for fifteen minutes. Keith took their attention gladly, scratching at ruffs and behind ears before nodding in the direction of home. “Come on. We need to get home before Shiro and the girls.”

The trio set off, running down the paths of the woodland park until they reached the roadway. Miranda and Oberon were well-trained enough to know to stick by Keith’s heels, to stay close to him and keep pace, because not doing so meant the leads would go back on and they liked their freedom. They liked their twice-daily runs with Keith as much as Keith did, because now he didn’t have to run alone.

Up the path and round the back of the house, Keith led the dogs into the ‘dog barn’ attached to the house: they were only wolf-dogs, but the wolf part remained strong, and they needed to be able to roam as and when. It was the reason they’d ended up with this house, and the land surrounding it. Keith hadn’t exactly asked for it, but Shiro had known. He’d known that Keith wanted space that was more closed in, with trees and hills. He wanted to be close to mountains but also the sea. And they both wanted dogs.

They’d moved to Scotland as soon as they got Luka.

Once the dogs were settled, he left his shoes in the mud room by the kitchen and headed upstairs, pulling his hair out of its ponytail and stripping down for a quick shower. The hot water chased the chill of the run out of him, and soon he was relaxed and warm. He dried, dressed, and headed back down to the kitchen.

He was cutting up apple slices when he heard the car pull in. He’d left the door unlocked, knowing they’d be back soon. Shiro was making shushing noises, as if he couldn’t hear him. Had he been human, perhaps he wouldn’t. But he was half-Galra, and he could hear socked feet whispering against the floor, rustling of fabric, and barely stifled giggles. He set the knife down, pretended he didn’t know they were there.

Still, no amount of Galra hypersenses could prepare him for what he didn’t expect.

“Amaya! Boost me!”

_What?_

Before he knew it there was an entire eight-year-old wrapped around his back, arms around his neck and legs around his ribcage, wet kisses all over wherever they could reach. Another entire eight-year-old rammed into his legs, hugging his hips tights. “We’re home, Papa!”

“Yes, I see that, Amaya,” he said, unable to hide the smile on his face as he looked down and grey eyes peered back up at him. “And I see you two have learned a new trick.” He turned his head, trying to catch the cheeky face of his youngest, who kept giggling and hiding said face in his hair.

“Daddy told us about the Powerball Special!”

Keith rolled his eyes. Of course. That would explain the boost, and how Hotaru got quite as high as she did. He turned around so his back was to the kitchen counter, and let his daughter slide off him. She was still giggling, violet eyes beaming bright. Both his girls were in their white gis and yellow belts, their braids now all loose and messy. It hadn’t been his intention: he hadn’t really wanted his children to learn to fight and defend themselves, but the twins thrived on the hard work and challenge, and rarely got into fights at all.

“Did he now. Well. You know the rules apply. With Paladin powers come —”

“— Paladin responsibilities,” they replied in stereo, with a roll of eyes that was all too familiar. “We _know_ , Papa.”

“Good,” he nodded, smiling. He bent down to kiss Amaya’s cheek, then Hotaru’s as he picked her up off the counter and put her back down on the floor. “Now go get cleaned up. Snacks are nearly ready and your brother will be back soon.”

The tornado that was Hotaru rushed out of the kitchen, nearly knocking her other father over, but Amaya lingered, her fingers carefully lacing with Keith’s. He looked down at her, quirked an eyebrow. She bit her lip before saying, “You’ll help us train for the green stripe exam?”

“Of course, sweetheart. You know I will.” He stroked her hair back with his free hand, letting her hold on to him. She had always been the clingier one, and always clingy for Keith, which was endearing considering that Amaya was the one who was the spitting image of Shiro. But then again, Shiro was known for his clingier, softer moments, too.

(Hotaru was entirely Tay Kogane, all mischief and smiles, which was odd to see on a face so like his own. Sometimes looking at her hurt, because he wondered if he could have been that happy if his father hadn’t died, if he could know his father through her, if he knew anything about his father at all. But those times were fleeting, and he was more than thankful that he was now a father himself, and that she was his daughter.)

Shiro walked into the kitchen, nodding gently at his daughter. “Go on. Get cleaned up. Hotaru will be waiting for you to do her hair, and she needs to do yours.”

Amaya reluctantly let go of Keith, and accepted the quick cuddle Shiro offered before she, too, bounded upstairs.

Keith sighed, shaking his head, and then tipped it towards where he’d been slicing apples, a silent request. Shiro stepped into place and took over the task, while Keith busied himself at the pantry. “I worry about her sometimes.”

“Hey, I was a nervous kid when I was her age,” Shiro assured. “She’ll grow out of it. She’s got Hotaru to keep her brave.” He stopped to watch Keith expertly roll out, then slice puff pastry sheets into squares. “Just like I’ve got you.”

“Pfft. What, and Amaya keeps Hotaru from exploding? Like you keep me?”

“Hmmm.” Shiro took the pastry sheets and arranged the apple slices in the middle of the squares, folding the edges up. “Yeah. I haven’t decided if she’s Hurricane or Spitfire, if I’m honest.” He grabbed an egg from the basket on the counter, cracking it into a bowl and beating it with a fork. Before he could ask, Keith was already handing him the pastry brush.

“Typhoon. That’s Hotaru,” Keith replied. Two slices of bread were in front of him, one with peanut butter and the other with hazelnut spread, and now he was studiously slicing bananas.

“What does that make Amaya?”

“Raptor.”

Shiro smiled at that, putting the prepared apple tarts into the oven that had been warming since before he arrived home. “And Luka?”

“Fighter Command. Keeps the rest of us on our toes.” Keith cut the peanut butter-hazelnut-banana concoction into triangles and set them on a plate, just as the back door slammed open and shut. Both fathers bellowed, “MUD ROOM,” before footsteps could come through.

“I know, _I know!_ Chill! Don’t I at least get a _‘Hello darling son welcome home’?_ ”

Shiro looked to Keith, laughing as he shook his head. “Yeah. You’re right. Fighter Command. No idea until he tells us.”

Their thirteen-year-old — if they mixed Lance and Hunk’s genetics, Luka would have been the result, but his easy, laid-back nature could only have come from the fact that he was Kiwi — romped into the kitchen, immediately smothering Keith in a huge hug. He was already nearly as tall as Keith, and growing steadily as broad as Shiro, and between his heritage and his build, it was inevitable that he’d end up playing under-fifteen’s rugby.

They were in Scotland, after all.

“Hey Papa,” he greeted with a wide grin. “Ooh, is that my sandwich?”

Keith handed the plate to him, conducting his third — or fourth — eye roll of the hour. “At least I got the hello first. Sandwich or shower?”

Luka threw himself into one of the bar stools at the counter. “Oh my god sandwich, please. I’m starving.” He was in his school team tracksuit, having (hopefully) put his field-mucked kit in the wash, glowing from practice. He took a bite of his sandwich, then wide-eyed stood up again and went around the counter to plow into Shiro for a hug. “Sorry, forgot!”

“Luka, chew!” Shiro yelled, laughing as he wrapped his arms around his son.

“Hello to you, too, Dad.”

By the time Luka took his seat again, Keith set down a protein shake by his plate. “There. Hot shower, rest, then you can take an easy walk with the dogs after dinner, okay?”

“Yes, Papa, I know,” Luka said, undimmed in his brightness. “No need to fuss.”

Keith and Shiro had promised, years ago, that they would adopt a child once they were married. That was before they found out Keith was capable of carrying, but the promise bore out when Keith lost that ability. Even when Allura gave them the possibility that that could change, they decided to not risk it, and once they’d resettled on Earth, went in search of a son.

Keith had been adamant about that. For the unknown son he’d lost the first time.

Luka was seven when they met, the twins just about two years old. It had been easy, the five of them coming together so naturally it left the fathers breathless. Luka immediately adored and doted on his little sisters, immediately settled into life with two fathers, despite the fact that both were former Paladins of Voltron, one of them an alien who gave birth to said little sisters. It didn’t faze him that he had the three other Paladins as godparents, his fourth godparent was an alien queen, there was also an eccentric great-uncle in there somewhere, and he had two aunts: one living in Tokyo, the other fifteen systems away as the Captain of the Royal Guard of New Altea. 

Sometimes, Luka was so easy-going that he exhausted his fathers through sheer bewilderment.

The girls reappeared as soon as the apple tarts were out of the oven, and they settled down and chattered with their big brother while they ate. This was routine: the girls would then set up in the study with their homework, Luka joining them after his shower. Dinner would follow, Luka would take the dogs on their evening walk while one of the fathers got Amaya and Hotaru bathed and bedded for the night.

This was his life, and for a moment, it overwhelmed him, and Keith walked out of the kitchen.

He found himself upstairs, at the window in the corridor facing the back yard and their land beyond. The sun was starting to come low, casting a golden light over everything that was green that he could see. Everything was softer here, cooler, but the skies no less open and dark. Stars still came out in full shine; the constellations were simply in different places to where they were before, out in the desert. His home was no longer empty, but sometimes so overfull it was as devastating as the loneliness he remembered.

Sometimes he still felt lost, in the best way possible.

“Hey.”

Powerful arms slid around his body, pulling him close against a broad chest. Keith let himself be pulled back, sliding his own arms over Shiro’s, linking the fingers of their left hands so he could feel both their rings pressing against his skin. “Hey.”

He felt the next words mouthed against his temple. “You okay?”

Keith wasn’t sure how to answer. Because he was. He had everything they’d once dreamed of, everything they’d worked for, even though the path had been entirely different to what they’d imagined. It had taken love, loss, forgiveness, fury, but it was all here. But sometimes…

“Sometimes, I wake up, and I don’t understand how I got here. I don’t understand how this is all mine.”

A rumble sounded from low in Shiro’s throat. A hum or a laugh, he couldn’t tell, but it was warm, and fond. “Yeah. I get that, too.” Keith felt his hold tighten, as if Shiro, too, was checking if this was all real. “But you _are_ here. All this really _is_ yours.” A kiss to the corner of his eye, and he wondered if it tasted salty at all. “I’m here. I’m yours.”

Together, they rocked gently, swaying to a song only they could hear, always in tune with one another, always in step, never far apart.

“You are,” Keith said, sighing, smiling. “You are.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amaya and Hotaru both do taekwondo. Luka pretty much got into rugby the same way I did: being very sick one weekend and stuck with nothing on TV except the Six Nations tournament. The love was instant. 
> 
> Shiro is a lecturer in Astronomy at the nearby university. Keith is a search-and-rescue pilot. Retirement was never really an option for either of them. 
> 
> Next: Keith and... animals.


	5. Just Keith Things

Shiro wasn’t sure if this degree of concern was truly warranted. But then again, that would require a lot of explaining and he was definitely sure the Ambassador wasn’t going to give him time to do that.

And anyway, where would he even start?

He supposed, maybe, that Keith’s first friend at the Garrison hadn’t actually been himself, though that was what he always told people, and that was what Keith would have said, too. No, Keith’s first friend had been a crow. As in _Corvus_ , from the family _Corvidae_.

Shiro would be the first to admit, after some stammering, that he had been immediately drawn to the talented but withdrawn pilot, not because he was smashing records left, right, and centre, but because he had the prettiest eyes, and there was something about his half-smile that did odd things to his stomach. So when he could, he’d observe the young cadet, and wonder how best to approach him when others had thus far failed.

But on the first nice day at the Garrison, when just about everyone had taken their lunches outside to enjoy the weather, he’d seen Keith sitting alone on a bench, sharing his mac n’ cheese with a crow. He’d watched him take a small forkful and pile it carefully on a napkin, watched the crow peck at the mound of cheesy pasta, watched it _caw_ just the one time it took for Keith to look up from his lunch, smile, and put another forkful down for it.

Shiro had been unreasonably jealous that a crow had got Keith to smile before he could even try. Second place had never felt so bitter.

The crow had been just the beginning.

He’d had to rescue Keith from a group of cadets who’d been throwing rocks at a coyote pup, each and every one of them bigger than Keith, but he’d fought like a mother coyote to protect it. Shiro had sent the lot of them to be reprimanded, but vouched for Keith. It had been one of the few times that something of Keith’s character had served him instead of damned him: animal cruelty was simply cruelty, and it reflected badly on the Garrison. Keith had got off light, with only laps to run for a week.

Keith hadn’t minded. He had the crow for company.

“Goodness, he could be _anywhere!_ If anything were to happen to a Paladin of Voltron on my watch the Emperor will have my head!”

Shiro came back to the present, back to where he and the other Paladins were out with the Ambassador, searching for the Red Paladin who’d got bored, asked for permission for a walk, and simply hadn’t come back. They hadn’t been told about the dangerous wildlife, and how it got three times more dangerous once darkness fell. That if Keith had gone near the water, who knows what would have snatched him up and eaten him by now, or if he’d gone into the forest they might never find his bones.

“I’m pretty sure Keith can look after himself,” Hunk offered, though he was started to buy into the Ambassador’s panic.

“He always does this, though,” Lance grumbled. “Runs off to do his loner schtick, doesn’t tell us anything, gets himself into trouble —”

Pidge threw him a dark look. “Oh, right. Which one of us ran off with a stranger only to get tied to a tree and their Lion stolen?”

“Paladins, please! Your Red Paladin could be in danger right now!” the Ambassador squeaked. “Or dead!”

Quietly, Shiro knew in his bones that neither of those were true.

He’d seen Keith handle scorpions and lizards. Spiders the size of his face. Jesus, he remembered the one that had got into the girls’ gym shower room. Half a dozen girls had run out, towel-clad and dripping wet from unfinished showers, and other boys’ attempts at gallantry had ended in screams of “WHAT THE FUCK” and them running out as well.

Keith had stepped up, asked, “How big?”, tipped his lunch out of his lunchbox and walked into the showers — someone had pointed out that he was barefoot and in shorts, _was he crazy?_ — and after seven minutes, came back out with a closed lunchbox and a flat, “It’s clear now.” While the girls had been grateful, the boys refused to believe him until he held the lunchbox out to them and it rattled from the inside.

Those boys had practically clambered over each other to get away. Shiro had been beside himself with laughter.

He wasn’t laughing quite so much when he followed Keith out past the gates to set the offending creature free, and saw that the spider really was about the size of Keith’s face, its eight eyes big enough to be visible. All Keith had said was, “Sorry about that. Just, maybe, don’t go into the vents? You’re okay now.”

Shiro would swear till this day that the spider seemed to understand, because it had waited, then scurried away.

That incident led to the time a rattlesnake had got into one of the simulator pods, and someone had yelled, “Go get Kogane!” and Keith had stomped in, grumbling about the Garrison being too cheap to call in animal control, entered the sim pod with his jacket on and exited with it off and in a bundle in his arms. Someone had the presence of mind to bring a bucket, and Keith had dumped his jacket into it before taking it outside.

He’d got demerits the next day from Iverson for having a wrinkled jacket. Later the same afternoon, a crow had swooped in, stolen Iverson’s cap and proceeded to shit on his bald head before dropping his cap into a trashcan.

So, maybe Shiro wasn’t all that surprised when they finally did find Keith — “The river! By the Goddesses he’s by the river, oh no!” — and he was absolutely fine.

More than fine.

Keith, glowing in his Paladin armour under the moon, was sitting on a log right at the river’s edge. At his feet were a family of… otters? Six-legged otters with tiny horns on their heads. An odd crested lizard sat next to him on the log, and on his shoulder was what looked like a swallow-tailed owl who wouldn’t stop pecking and nuzzling at his hair.

He was talking, soft and low.

“— yeah, so this is probably one of the nicer planets I’ve been on? I mean, it’s quiet, so _oop_ , careful…” He reached down for something, and whatever it was squeaked. “Don’t push your brother like that, it’s rude.” There was more squeaking, and then nothing.

Shiro wanted to laugh. He could feel it bubbling inside him, threatening to shake him to pieces, because _of course_ this would happen. Keith couldn’t be civil to anything humanoid, anything that could speak the same damned language as him. Give him an animal and… well.

Because years in a place like the Garrison, where one was meant to build camaraderie, forge strong bonds that would lead to excellent teamwork, and Keith only managed Shiro, and a crow, a coyote pup, various reptiles, spiders, scorpions, that one baby bird he hand-fed until it was strong enough to fly away on its own.

The Ambassador was prattling quietly. Apparently the otter family were territorial; they would never have let anyone or anything near this section of the river. The lizard was known to just drop on people’s heads and hiss and scratch. And the swallow-tailed owl… “We haven’t seen one of those in decapheebs.”

“— actually, you guys are the nicest wildlife I’ve met in a while,” Keith was saying. He had one of the otter pups in his lap now, and was giving it belly rubs. “Normally it’s too big. Or too many teeth. Or just plain mean. Like those giant lizards —” he turned to the lizard beside him and said, “— no offence, but there were these giant lizards on this one planet, and they were just trying to eat Shiro. I don’t even know why they’d try. They’d probably never seen a human before, so why would they even —”

When Shiro looked over, he saw Pidge recording the entire thing. Hunk looked like he was about to cry. He heard Lance say, “What kind of Disney princess bullshit is this?”

There was a rustling from the deep bushes nearby, and a large wolf-like creature — the most beautiful animal Shiro had ever seen — stepped out. It was glowing silver, with wise, calculating golden eyes, pointed ears, and three thick tails that swished elegantly behind it like a royal cloak.

The Ambassador nearly fell dead away before whimpering, “The Night God…”

With far less reverence, Keith said, “Oh hey. You’re back. Did you have a good patrol?”

The wolf seemed to regard Keith gently, then bowed its head before coming to sit at Keith’s side. It made a gruff whuffing noise, and shoved its mighty head against Keith’s ribcage, making the Paladin laugh. “No, it’s okay. You didn’t miss anything. Not like I say anything worth listening to. Though you guys are pretty good listeners.”

Shiro’s heart ached. They really needed to get a pet. Surely Allura might relent. Keith could do with someone who wouldn’t judge him the way he thought people did all the time, and Shiro could share the animal, maybe. Support animals for PTSD were a thing, right? Who could he ask?

The peace was shattered when Lance stood up and shouted, “Oh, and what are _we?_ Chopped liver?!”

There was a cacophony of noises. The otter cubs squealed and raced for the water, their mother herding them along before they vanished underwater. The lizard leapt about six feet out of shock, and then promptly scurried up the nearest tree, hissing the entire time. Keith, too, stood, whirling around to see the rest of the Paladins and a paling Ambassador standing up on the bank behind him. The swallow-tailed owl had its eyes trained on Lance, the noisemaker, and spread its wings wide behind Keith’s head, shrieking angrily.

The Night God merely looked on, disinterested in everything except Keith.

Lance had the sense to at least back away a little: no one had any idea what the bird might do if it felt threatened. Keith only reached up to stroke its chest with his knuckles, shushing and cooing quietly. “No, no, it’s okay. They’re safe. Even that one. He’s just… loud.” The bird seemed to relax, folding its wings back, chirruping before going back to grooming Keith’s hair.

Shiro smiled, but didn’t move towards him. “We’ve been looking for you,” he said, amusement bright in his eyes. “It’s getting late.” He said nothing about the real reason they’d been out looking for him. Keith wouldn’t believe him, certainly not after how he’d spent his time by the river.

Keith mulled this over, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry. Guess I lost track of time.” The bird thumped its head against his, and he turned to look at it. It cooed, high and pretty, rubbed its crest against his face, and then flew off, high into the moonlight. “Oh. Bye.”

No one missed how sad Keith sounded.

“Guess I gotta go,” and no one missed that Keith wasn’t talking to them, either. They watched him crouch down to face the wolf, who still sat ever so patiently beside him. The wolf stood and shoved its entire weight against him, rested its head on Keith’s shoulder, and with no hesitation at all, Keith curled his arms around it.

Hunk was openly crying now. The Ambassador was talking to Pidge, insisting that they _must_ show this footage to the Emperor. 

Shiro really needed to speak to Allura about getting a pet. Maybe Coran would know a good species for them.

Keith stood again, and made his way up the bank to join the others. Shiro reached a hand out, and Keith took it, let himself be pulled up.

“Made some friends, huh?”

Keith looked back, and the Night God was looking back at him, before it slid into the bushes and disappeared.

“Yeah.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based of a Twitter convo I had some time back, about how Keith was really some kind of desert Disney Princess. It kinda made sense. He's not good with people, but he's happy in the natural world. And animals rarely judge.


End file.
